


Fault

by flooj9235



Series: Rebuilding [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Angst, F/F, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Survivor Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-17
Updated: 2015-08-17
Packaged: 2018-04-15 04:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4592331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flooj9235/pseuds/flooj9235
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Reapers have fallen, Miranda finds herself picking her way through the wreckage to the nearest Alliance base.  She isn't expecting what she finds, and she's definitely not expecting to care so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fault

Everyone still seemed to be in a daze.  The sweeping red light that had destroyed the Reapers was burned into the back of Miranda’s eyelids.  Despite the destruction around her, there was a faint sense of elation.  They had won.

Miranda picked her way across the remains of what had once been a building, following the sea of people moving toward a communications hub.  Whatever Shepard had done to take down the Reapers had also ruined short-wave communications across the planet.  Miranda felt blind without her omni-tool pumping out radio chatter, and that was not a feeling she enjoyed.

With any luck, she would be able to check up on Oriana, then get news on the Normandy and see that Shepard had made it out safely.  In the worst case, she’d be able to organize a cleanup crew and get to work identifying bodies while they waited for news.

It took far too long before the tattered Alliance flag became visible through the smoke, and Miranda couldn’t stop a smile at the weary cheer that rippled through the survivors.  She followed them into the command center, her ears tuned to the murmur of the commanding officers as she listened for news.

The communications center was more than just a hub for officers; the survivors had set up a makeshift hospital.  Wounded soldiers were standing around waiting to be helped, while others seemed to be waiting for news on fallen friends.

Red uniforms caught Miranda’s eye and she studied the cluster of people wearing them.  They looked too young to be part of this war, she mused, then paused when one of them turned and the light glinted off a logo.  Students, she realized.  Grissom.  Jack.

Her ears strained to pick up the raspy sound of Jack yelling.  Miranda’s mouth went dry when she realized the professor was nowhere to be found.  She crossed the room on shaky legs, her head held high despite the fear thrumming through her.

One of the students looked up as she approached and straightened up, offering her a weary salute.  “Ma’am.”

“Give me a report,” Miranda replied, trying to push some authority into her tone.

The young man glanced at his classmates and fought off a frown, then returned his gaze to Miranda.  “We lost a few good people, ma’am.  Reiley—I mean, uh, Bellarmine, and Sutton.  Banshees hit us hard.”

Miranda suppressed a shudder; she could still hear the shrill screams of the abominations.  “And your commander?”

The student’s eyes darted to the door nearby.  “She got hit trying to save Bellarmine.  She’s… in there.”

Miranda swallowed hard and prayed that the door wasn’t labeled “morgue.” She gave the student a nod and turned, avoided looking at the sign on the door, and walked in like she owned the place.

Medical teams were scurrying around barking orders at each other, dodging around Miranda.  The ex-Cerberus operative walked through the makeshift hospital, scanning the beds for any sign of Jack.

Medics yelling for supplies came barrelling through the room, barely giving Miranda time to step aside.  She caught a glimpse of the soldier on the stretcher, cringed at the sight of burned armor and missing limbs, then shook herself and continued her search for the biotic professor.

The former operative’s senses were on alert, desperate to pick up any sign of Jack.  Miranda decided she’d be all right with being thrown against a wall with biotics and threatened with bodily harm if it meant Jack was alive. A world without the foul-mouthed biotic seemed unthinkable.

She’d nearly reached the far end of the hospital when she finally caught a glimpse of tattoos.  Miranda wanted to run over, but kept a measured pace, Jack’s name playing on repeat in her head.  She needed to know someone else had made it through the war.

The professor was unmoving and eerily silent.  Her eyes were closed and her skin was pale beneath the ink, bruises, and soot streaked across her body.

Miranda stopped at the side of the bed and held her breath, watching for Jack’s chest to rise.  Everything felt like it was rushing out of her when Jack finally drew a breath, and even though it was shallow, Miranda couldn’t stop the relief.

“Jack…”  Miranda had seen a lot of terrible things over the past few weeks, but somehow nothing had been as jarring as seeing the tattooed woman ashen and still.

The wounds across Jack’s stomach were messily bandaged, and blood smeared underneath them was so thick that her tattoos were barely discernible.  For the first time that Miranda could remember, the biotic looked vulnerable.

Miranda’s breath caught in her throat all over again and she found herself reaching for Jack’s hand.

A doctor jogged over to tell her to leave, then spotted the Crucible Project logo on her shoulder and thought better of it.  “Sorry, ma’am.”

Miranda tried to speak, but couldn’t get words to form. She nodded at Jack and raised her eyebrows, deciding that she hated feeling so helpless.

“She got impaled by a banshee,” the doctor supplied, scanning Jack with his omni-tool.  He frowned at a reading and adjusted something, then glanced up at Miranda.  “Guess she jumped aside at the last second or something, since it didn’t hit anything major.”

Miranda’s knees nearly gave out.  “She’ll survive?”

The doctor nodded and checked Jack’s bandages, seemed content with what he found, then offered the former operative a smile and moved away to check on another patient.

Miranda returned her gaze to Jack, studying the unconscious woman before her.  She wondered vaguely how long it would take her to find enough information on Jack’s medical history to take over the medical care.  Maybe Shepard could get Liara to feed her some information…

Biotics crackled around Jack’s fingertips and she frowned as she fought to wake up.  “Fuck…”

“Jack!”  Miranda rested a hand on Jack’s shoulder, trying to keep the woman from sitting up.

Jack batted her hand away and forced her eyes open.  Faint wisps of biotic energy danced around her for a moment, then Jack groaned and pushed herself up on her elbow.  “Shit,” she hissed, her cloudy eyes going to the wounds on her stomach.  “Fuck.  The hell…?”  Her eyes flicked up to meet Miranda’s and confusion passed across her face. “Cheerleader?”

Jack stared up at her blearily, then fell back against her pillow and closed her eyes again.  Her jaw worked for a moment before she managed to speak.  “Heard you killed your dad.”

“I did.”  A faint smile passed across Miranda’s face at the memory.

“Sister safe?”

Miranda swallowed guilt that her thoughts had been so easily diverted from Oriana and promised herself that she’d try and send word now that she knew Jack was all right.  “Yes.”

Jack nodded.  “Good.”  She shifted slightly and winced.  “Fucking ow.”  She looked back down at her injuries and scowled at the bandages. “The hell…?  Did some Reaper—shit.  Fuck!  My kids!”  Her eyes narrowed and she pushed away Miranda’s hands, sitting up with another string of curses.  “Where’re my guys, Cheerleader?!”

“Jack, you really shouldn’t—”

“Fuck off!  Bellarmine, is he okay?”  Jack groaned as she slid off the cot, swaying on her feet.

Miranda decided arguing wasn’t worth it and stepped around the cot to steady the tattooed professor.  “I don’t know, Jack, I’m sorry.”  Whatever the students outside of the room had told her was forgotten; nothing had mattered as much as finding Jack.  The realization was disconcerting, and Miranda filed it away to deal with later.

“Fuck,” Jack said again, trying her best to not look like she was leaning heavily against Miranda.

“Come on,” the former operative murmured, leading Jack through the chaos of the hospital.  She hoped the students were still gathered around outside the door; there was no way she could stop Jack from exploding out into the ruins of London, no matter how injured the biotic was.

A few unbearable moments later, Miranda pushed the door open and helped Jack stagger out into the lobby.  The smaller woman immediately spotted the Grissom students and pushed away from Miranda to hobble toward them.

“Prangley!  Where’s Bellarmine?!”

The young man snapped to attention and jogged over to meet Jack.  “Ma’am!  How—what are you…?”

“Where’s Bellarmine?” Jack repeated impatiently.

Prangley shifted uncertainly and looked over his shoulder at his classmates.  “He, uh… He didn’t make it, ma’am.”

Miranda’s heart dropped as she watched Jack stiffen.

For a long moment, Jack didn’t move or speak.  Then, her biotics flared and she turned and flung an already-mangled trashcan against the wall.  A hoarse cry swelled in her chest, and the bustle of the survivors stopped to watch Jack's outburst.  She ripped the metal trashcan in two, the pieces whirling through the air.  A table was her next target, and in her blind grief, Jack nearly knocked over a medic running past.

Miranda put on her most threatening glare and stared down the people intruding on Jack's grief, keeping one eye on the wounded biotic.  The small crowd flinched away from Jack's next explosive outburst, then looked at Miranda and dispersed.

Jack’s students watched their teacher as they huddled together, hurt plain on all of their faces.  Miranda didn’t know what else to do and let Jack vent her emotions, her heart aching at the sight.  Somewhere along the line, she’d begun to care about Jack, and watching the tattooed biotic in so much pain hurt.

The biotic aura around Jack began to falter, and Jack had gone pale.  Her cheeks were wet with tears and she was visibly swaying on her feet.

Miranda took a cautious step toward the tattooed woman, ready to catch Jack if she passed out from overexertion.  “Jack…”

Jack wheeled around and threw Miranda against the wall with a weak biotic field.  “Shut the fuck up, Miranda!”

The prickling energy of the biotics restraining her was weak enough that Miranda knew she could shake it off without much effort.  Doing so would only anger Jack further, and Miranda didn’t want a repeat of the encounter in her cabin so long ago, so she didn’t fight it.  “Jack.  It’s not your fault.”

"Fuck you, Cheerleader!  What the hell do you know?!"

"That you would never have let your students down," Miranda countered firmly. "It isn't your fault, Jack.  You did what you could."

"And it wasn't fucking enough!" Jack’s voice was shaking with the effort, her fists clenched so tightly her knuckles were white.  She stumbled and the biotic field around Miranda faded.

The taller woman hesitantly moved toward Jack again, prepared to block a punch as she reached for the teacher.  “Jack, you need to lie down.”

“Fuck off,” Jack snapped, her voice beginning to slur.  “I don’t wanna fucking lie down!”

“You’ve been wounded, Jack.  Your body needs time to recover,” Miranda reasoned, being as gentle as she could.  “Destroying the furniture isn’t going to help.”

Jack gave her a weak glare, struggling to wipe the tears off her face.  “It’ll make me feel better.”

“Not if you work yourself to death.”  The former operative sighed and rubbed at her collarbone, wishing she had something helpful to say.  “I’m sorry, Jack.  It won’t bring him back.”

“You don’t get to say that,” Jack snarled.  “You don’t know, you weren’t fucking there!”

Miranda had a vague hope that Shepard would come bursting in to defuse the situation.  “I know.  I’m sorry.”

The women stared each other down for a few moments, and Miranda didn’t realize she was holding her breath until Jack’s shoulders slumped.

“Fuck,” she mumbled, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks.  She blinked angrily and tried to dry her eyes again, then gasped in pain.  Fresh blood began to color the bandages across her stomach, and she cringed and curled in on herself.

Miranda closed the distance between them and pulled Jack against her, allowing the biotic to lean on her heavily.  “Come on,” she murmured, heading for the hospital again.  

Navigating the triage center and returning to Jack’s cot proved to be a tedious task, especially since the tattooed woman was fighting off unconsciousness.  After far too long, they made it back to Jack’s bed, and Miranda breathed a little sigh of relief.

“Careful,” Miranda murmured, easing Jack back onto her cot.  “Are you all right?”

Jack let out a weak snort. “The fuck do you think?”

Miranda didn’t respond right away, eyeing the fresh blood seeping through the bandages.  “You need a doctor.”  She turned to look for one, but Jack’s fingers closed around her wrist.

“No.”

Miranda arched an eyebrow and fixed Jack with a challenging look.  The stubborn glare she received in return didn’t come as a surprise.  “You’re bleeding again.  I hardly think—”

“I don’t fucking care.  I fucked up, I deserve it,” she spat, her words full of self-loathing.

“I disagree.”

“Can the bullshit, Miranda.  I fucked up.  I wasn’t fast enough.  And Bellarmine…  goddamnit.  Reiley had to pay for it.  Fuck, he was just a kid…  I was supposed to keep him safe!  I was his fucking teacher!  He was counting on me!”

“You did everything you could, Jack,” Miranda said again, right back to feeling helpless.

“Yeah, and it wasn’t enough.”  Jack rolled over, away from Miranda, and cursed in pain.  The bandages on her back began to redden as well, but she didn’t seem to notice and her shoulders hitched with a stifled sob.

Miranda’s mouth wouldn’t work, and she was pretty sure that Jack didn’t need to hear more empty comfort. She backed away instead, giving Jack some privacy to cry.  A gut wrenching sob from behind her nearly broke Miranda’s heart, and she walked away to find a doctor.

When she returned, Jack had passed out again, but there were obvious tear tracks in the grime on her face.  The doctor shook her head and prescribed a sedative and some of the half-strength Medigel, since Jack’s wounds weren’t as severe as most.

Miranda stood at the foot of Jack’s bed for a few moments, chewing her lip.  She wondered if it might not be better to go get one of Jack’s students to sit with her, but Miranda knew Jack well enough to know that being this vulnerable in front of her students would be unbearable.

The former operative found a stool and set it near Jack’s bed, just out of the way of any traffic that may come through.  She studied Jack for another few moments, then went to find a clean rag and some water.

Miranda returned with a canteen and a spare t-shirt, and wondered what on earth she was doing as she crouched beside Jack’s bed and wet the cloth.  A year ago, she would have been perfectly happy fighting Jack to the death, but now…

Miranda gently washed Jack’s face, cleaning off the soot and grime.  She half expected Jack to wake and snap at her or rip her to pieces, but the biotic remained unconscious.  Miranda finished her task quietly, glad to see that Jack looked a little less like death.

It was strange to see Jack so vulnerable.  Even back on the Normandy, Jack rarely slept, and always hid behind a mask of thick lipstick and a permanent sneer.  Now, though, Jack just looked exhausted.

Miranda realized she was trailing her knuckles along Jack’s jaw gently and pulled away, cursing under her breath.  She set the rag aside and settled onto the stool, keeping a safe distance between herself and the unconscious woman.  Even though Jack was unconscious and safe in the hospital, Miranda didn’t want her to be alone.

Hours passed and Miranda nearly fell asleep before dragging herself out of the hospital.  She looked across the waiting area and made eye contact with one of Jack’s students, Prangley, and started toward him as he got to his feet.

“Is she okay?” the young man asked, his voice low and urgent.

Miranda opened her mouth, hesitated, then dodged the question.  “She’s… asleep.”  She bit her lip and tried not to think of how still Jack had been or how drained she looked.  Miranda activated her omnitool and pulled up her contact data, holding her arm out to Prangley.  “If she needs anything, let me know.”

Prangley opened his own omnitool and copied down the information, nodding solemnly.  “Yes, ma’am.”

Over his shoulder, Miranda spotted an Alliance officer who seemed to know what she was doing.  Miranda gave Prangley one quick nod and walked away, letting her thoughts linger on Jack for a moment before shaking herself and crossing the room toward the officer.  Jack was alive, and there was no way to know about Shepard or Oriana.  The brunette’s gut twisted at the thought of her sister, and she swallowed a rush of emotion.  She needed to know if Oriana was all right, and if that meant reworking communications for the entire planet single-handedly, Miranda would do it without batting an eye.

The officer turned as Miranda approached and gave the former operative a once over.  “What do you need?”

Miranda was too tired to be contrary and saluted.  “Miranda Lawson, reporting for duty.”

Recognition dawned in the officer’s eyes.  “Lawson, eh?  Heard good things about you.  Come with me, got a few things I could use your expertise on.”

Miranda nodded and followed the officer deeper into the base, ready to help however she could.


End file.
